


Heat Waves, Battle Scars, And Fuck Me

by RittaPokie



Category: spideypool - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Smut, Warning for self harm description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 12:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6194827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RittaPokie/pseuds/RittaPokie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part of a much longer fic I wanna write someday. But like. It'd be a huge project and I'm just not up for it rn so have this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat Waves, Battle Scars, And Fuck Me

A heatwave hit NYC around June 12th and since then it’s just been hanging the fuck around. Peter is sprawled on the sofa in shorts and a long sleeve shirt and he is suffering. “Just put something cooler on.” Wade says for about the twentieth time. “Seriously. I don’t get what you’re trying to accomplish here.”

Peter responds by pulling the sleeves down even tighter on his arms than they had been, holding the seams in his clenched hands. “No.” he says, indignant. If he does, then Wade is going to see some things and know some things that he doesn’t need to know or see. Ever, as far as Peter is concerned.

“Heatstroke’s not as cool as you think it is.” Wade is dignified as ever, wearing just a loose shirt and his underwear, which does not make Peter’s heart beat off kilter, and his mask pushed up to his nose. His face has to be burning up so he’s one to talk. “Aren’t you supposed to be boy genius?”

“Shuuuut uuuup.” Peter whines. The heat is doing nothing for his mood. “It’s not your problem, I don’t know why you care.”

“Well sorry for not wanting you to die, I guess?” Wade pushes up from the chair he claimed for himself when he moved in just before Christmas the year before. “Just.” He sits next to Peter in the small space on the sofa that doesn’t contain one of Peter’s limbs. “You’re so weird sometimes, and it’s me saying that.”

Peter only feels Wade’s hand on his wrist for a split second before his right sleeve is pushed up. “Don’t!” he shouts, uselessly. Wade’s thumb brushes over one of the little, years old scars there and he exhales audibly, shakily. Peter wrenches his hand away from Wade, snatches his sleeve back down, and stomps to his room.

He slams the door and throws himself face-down on his bed. He’s not even sure why. He’s not mad. It’s not like Wade was being unreasonable. Peter, wearing long sleeves in 100 F weather, is the unreasonable one here, and he knows that, but he didn’t want Wade to see. Because it’s selfish, right? After this long of hiding them when Wade so unflinchingly bares everything but his face to Peter, trusts him that much. Peter thinks it must seem like he doesn’t trust Wade and that’s not true.

Wade knocks on his door softly. “I’m sorry.” He says. Peter sighs heavily into his pillow. “I wouldn’t have done that if I had any idea. It’s not my business. Don’t be mad?”

Peter was very content to continue hiding himself away until that last part silently cracked his heart. He sits up. “I’m not mad.” He sighs again. “No way you could’ve known. It’s not like I ever said anything.”

“There was only so much of my spidey wearing long sleeves in a god-awful heatwave I could take. Surprised you haven’t already passed out any.” Wade says, a bit lighter. “Not like spandex is much cooler, I guess.”

“Don’t stand out there and talk at the door. You can come in.” Peter says, and the door opens before he even finishes the sentence. He pushes up his sleeves. No use not doing that now. “Sit.” He pats the bed next to him.

Wade sits and crosses his legs. “So.” He says unhelpfully. “This weather, am I right?”

Peter can’t stop the grin that spreads on his face. “They’re old scars. From before I was Spider-Man.”

“I can see that. Some on both arms, too. Why?” Wade nods, but doesn’t seem like he wants the answer to that yet. He reaches for Peter’s wrist, but stops the action halfway with an uncertain look on his face. Peter holds out his arm for inspection. “I just. If you were still doing this to yourself, with your healing factor. No one would even know. You’ve been scuffed up since I moved in. Little ones like this, it’s an hour at most, right?” Peter nods and Wade frowns. “You seem pretty sure of that.”

“Sophomore year I sprained my wrist and had to wear a brace. I couldn’t really…uh.” He swallows, not sure how to continue that. Wade switches from watching his eyes to looking at and gently running his fingers over the scars. “I didn’t do it often, but I’d pick at them while they were healing so they’d last longer. And that was the-that was the part that, I don’t know, I guess…helped the most. Not that it ever really…” He sighs in frustration. Why is it so hard?

“I guess that didn’t really work when you got your healing factor.” Wade says, his voice quiet.

“Right.” Peter says. “I figured that out when my uncle was murdered. I hadn’t done it in a year but that night it was just…appealing. It was always just a short term fix, and an hour made it not worth it anymore. Then I started beating up criminals as Spider-Man, and that’s pretty therapeutic. So, I mean. It’s in the past. Don’t look so worried.”

“Why hide them?” Wade asks, finally looking up at Peter for more than 3 seconds. “It’s not like I was gonna judge you for it.”

“I know.” Peter pulls his arm away from Wade again and rubs the back of his neck. “I guess at first I didn’t really know how well this arrangement was going to work out, so I didn’t want to get that personal. Then later I felt like if I showed you, I’d seem like a giant asshole who didn’t trust you, and that’s not what it is.”

“You were way too young to have to fight that hard…” Wade says. His hands flex where they’re perched on his knees. “But those little marks, those are proof that you were bigger and badder than what was hurting you. You won and you’re here and that’s all that matters. I don’t know where I’d be if not for you…”

Wade looks down at his lap and clasps his hands together, feeling some of his own scars there. Peter studies his face for a minute. Some of what he just said didn’t sound like he meant to say it. Peter reaches out and bunches Wade’s shirt in his hand. Wade opens his mouth to question why but doesn’t get out a sound before Peter pulls him forward and into a kiss.

Wade takes a few seconds to react, blinking hard like he thinks this might not be real. Peter moves his hands up to frame Wade’s face and tilts his own head for a better angle and Wade gets the memo. He slides his hands up Peter’s arms and down to his waist, clenching the fabric in his hands and pulling Peter closer.

When he’s imagined kissing Wade, and he has, Peter never pictured gentle. He always thought that, if this happened, it’d be as their alter egos. Not to say that he never imagined something that wasn’t fueled by adrenaline and sexual tension, but when he did, he envisioned plenty of nervous giggling and full on laughing at teeth and noses bumping together. His heart jumps at the thought of that. For all he loves the hot and heavy alley-way groping and moaning day dreams that fill his mind if he took a shower too warm, something about the softer side of where his imagination goes with Wade always gives him the most butterflies.

Wade backs off in the middle of Peter’s less than focused train of thought and licks his lips. Peter can’t even pretend to ignore the shiver that tingles up his spine. “Are you-You…Do-Why?” Wade mumbles. Peter moves his hands to Wade’s shoulders and he can feel the unsteady inhale and exhale.

Actions speak louder than words. Peter peppers kisses along Wade’s jaw to the hollow of his throat and bites down. Wade’s breath hitches and a whine escapes his lips. Peter can feel his heart pounding as he presses open mouthed kisses back up Wade’s neck to his lips, sliding his tongue along the grooves in the skin there.

When their lips meet again, Wade pushes him back onto the bed and slips his tongue in to meet Peter’s. Peter realizes that Wade is between his open legs and could be doing much more than whatever wonderful thing he’s doing with his tongue that’s making Peter’s toes curl, but his hand stays on Peter’s stomach, a barrier. He knows Peter’s never been with another man before.

Peter moans when Wade moves to suck bruises onto his neck, and tries to work up the coordination to push Wade’s hand out of the way. He wraps his legs around Wade’s hips and pulls with them, hoping the other will just get the picture. He does.

Wade gasps against Peter’s neck, biting down and groaning when Peter rocks his hips up. Now this, this meets Peter’s expectations. Finally Wade lets go of whatever thought had him holding back and believing Peter didn’t really want this and sets a quick pace, rolling his hips in a way that makes Peter’s head spin. Peter presses his heels into Wade’s ass as an encouragement. “Fuck.” Peter gasps into Wade’s ear, and he revels in the moan Wade responds with.

It’s no surprise that the Merc with a Mouthis vocal in bed. Peter expected that, he wasn’t prepared for how hot it’s making him feel. With how he’s biting his lips and basically ruining Peter’s neck, he’s trying to be quiet because he knows Peter would be embarrassed if their neighbors heard anything.

Wade’s voice pitches higher and he tightens his grip on Peter’s sides, adoringly mumbling a stream of all the nicknames he’s given Peter. It hits the brunet suddenly that oh shit he’s close. Wade’s hips jerk out of the rhythm he’s kept flawlessly until this point and biting the pillow behind Peter’s head doesn’t muffle him at all when he comes.

Peter’s shaking and panting when Wade goes limp on top of him. “F-fuck…fuck.” Wade groans, “Hang on, I-…” He shifts and shoves a hand between them. Peter’s head lolls back on the pillows when Wade palms him roughly through his shorts. It takes seconds to finish him off, and he comes, shaking, fearful of ripping Wade’s shirt.

Wade rolls off him after he finishes, and they lay there panting at the ceiling for a few minutes. “That really just happen?” Wade asks.

“Yeah.” Peter says, shifting his hips. He needs to change. So does Wade. Fuck what’s the point. He pulls all his clothes off and discards them onto the floor. He sighs happily at the lack of sweltering heat. Not that the most recent source of heat was unpleasant. He hears Wade chuckle next to him.

“Oh now I’m hoping this heatwave lasts forever.” Peter shoots him a glance. Wade rolls onto his side and sweeps his eyes shamelessly over Peter’s naked body. Where was that confidence a few minutes ago? “Why don’t you turn over and show me what else you have to offer?” Peter, completely naked, just having had great sex with his roomie, finds a way to be embarrassed. He feels the blush creep onto his cheeks and down his chest. Wade follows it with a brush of fingers.

Peter shivers and huffs a laugh. “Maybe next time.” He lets his eyes close.

Wade’s hand comes to a halt on his stomach. “Next time?” He asks, his voice quiet and verging on insecure.

Peter forces his eyes open even though he feels like he could sleep for the next few days. “You think you can get me off like that just once? C'mon.” He rolls onto his side and scoots until he’s flush against Wade. “By the way, you should probably change these.” He runs a finger under the waistband of Wade’s underwear. “Or just take ‘em off.”

Peter’s mumbling, sleepy in a post-orgasmic haze, and can’t get what he knows has to be the dopiest grin off his face. Wade rubs Peter’s back for a minute before deciding that, yeah, he apparently can follow that advice. He pulls his underwear and shirt off and lets Peter scoot even closer. He wraps his arms around Peter and relaxes. It’s not long before his breathing evens out and Peter smiles against his chest.


End file.
